foul-bones

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads CH2 ( Homelander x OC )

chapter two: signed and sealed

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: benjamin knows full well he's out there, watching and waiting, even doing a little breaking and entering. homelander is simply biding his time until he gets his way.

Benjamin’s personal life had always been a simple one.  With little to no time to truly be, there wasn’t much drama to get mixed up in– well, there used to be.  Back when he tried to have the best of both worlds, there was… a lot.  Failed relationships, friends walking out on him, family shunning him for his absences, unreliability, and perceived short temper that was truly just pure exhaustion.  It was one hell of a cocktail, but sometimes the loneliness was worse.  It was hard to see the few people who still talked to him, and harder still to make time to call his folks, but somehow those relationships survived.

Worse yet was his track record with jobs.  Delivery boy was optimal given his particular skill set, but showing up on time with every little disturbance was beyond difficult.  Table waiting jobs were even worse, and he’d lost a fair few.  These days he supplements income with side photography while primarily working an IT job at a small tech firm that he probably wouldn’t have gotten without a friend putting in a good word.

Moving to New York with his best friend from college was a decision he wouldn’t undo, but it wasn’t without its strife.  If not for his friend, good ol’ Jason Ortega, Ben would’ve fallen through the cracks so many times. Eventually they split from their cozy roommate situation after Jase got a girlfriend, but there were no hard feelings.  In fact, he was the only person in the world who knew about Ben’s little secret.

The two worlds of Benjamin's life were starting to collide bit by bit.

“You met Homelander!" 

��Shh! Not so loud!”  Ben stresses, eyes wide.  They’re on their first coinciding lunch break in a while, and they'd decided to pop a few blocks down to a sub shop for their first hangout in damn near three weeks.  “Yeah, just–”

“And you worked with him, right?” Jason asks, leaning forward eagerly, food all but totally forgotten.  “That’s what all the articles are saying.”

“No, I–” Benjamin releases a heavy sigh.  He knows about those.  It’d been two weeks since Homelander propositioned him, and… well. 

It had been an interesting two weeks.

“It wasn’t like that.”  Ben says, mind wandering back…

Bodega Burglary Botched!  Spidey and Homelander Team Up, had been Vought News Network’s big headline of the day the morning after the confrontation in the alley.  Ben pretty much choked on his bowl of Maeve-O’s when the segment ran on his TV.  

“Boy, I’ll tell ya,” Homelander said, smiling perfectly for the camera.  “That Spider-Man is exactly what we need in The Seven.  After last night, I really do see why people say he looks out for the little guy.”

Ben must have looked quite the sight standing there in his boxers, spoon dangling from his mouth. Did he have bedhead or was his hair just showing how absolutely fucking insane he felt in the moment? 

“I can’t think of anyone better to fill Translucent’s shoes.  So, Spidey, if you’re seeing this: you’ve got my vote buddy!”

“You mother fucker…” Ben murmured.  This was a power play unlike anything he could’ve imagined.  This wasn’t just for PR– though it definitely was.  This was a way to turn the public onto the idea.  To make sure the wall crawler would be reminded of the offer everywhere he went.  

Which is precisely what happened.  And now it was happening in his personal life, which was even worse.  Not that Jase knew the fine details of what had happened, but…

“Man, Vought’s been hounding me for a while now.”  He explains.  “And now they sent the big dog.” 

Ben takes a moment, voice hushed, to tell Jason about all that had happened.  About how intimidating the whole thing was, how Homelander practically looked right through him, how he fucking name-dropped him despite every length the bug has gone to keep his identity a secret.

“You wanna know what else?”  Ben asks, glancing from side to side.  “I think he’s fucking stalking me.”

“Dude…” 

“Yeah, so get this…”

He spares no details.

It started off small.  Simple fly-by’s, flickers of red, white, and blue in the sky zipping by at the most random of times.  At first, it seemed like something weird in his peripherals, but then Benjamin learned to look up.  He made eye contact three days after first noticing his stalker while walking into work, and he’s not sure if that made Homelander more bold but he definitely did get worse.

Benjamin could’ve coped with the stalking. In fact, he was almost getting used to it, but then he went for the newly bought jug of milk in the fridge and found the seal cracked and roughly a quarter of the contents missing.

The lack of cup in the sink had him pouring the contents down the drain because that bastard clearly drank from the jug.  After that, subtlety went clear out the fucking door.

Ben’s apartment isn’t the neatest thing on planet Earth, but he prides himself on keeping up with his laundry.  His closet was organized, shoes kicked into a slobbishly-neat pile in said closet, and his underwear drawer was folded to perfection.

So why in the world were his boxer briefs unrolled from their tight, military-esque fold?  Why is his acoustic guitar on the stand where the electric normally sits?  

And why the fuck is the bed he made that morning now unmade and very obviously laid in?

Homelander had crossed a line.  This wasn't just some light stalking and intimidation, this was a Goldy Locks level violation of his privacy and space, and Ben didn’t know if it was going to end up so bad someday that he'd wake up to the fucker standing in the corner like some patriotic version of the hat man.

“And it’s still happening,” he tells Jason.  His best friend stares at him wide eyed with his mouth parted in disbelief. 

“Man, I hope you changed your toothbrush…”  He says.

“Fuck… No, but I will later, I–”  

A ringing from Jason’s phone breaks their banter and signals the end of their break.  Ben takes the opportunity to grab his own phone and type a message to him.  Eyes up when we leave.  Don’t react to this.

They pay and leave.  Sure as the sun rises in the morning, on the edge of the roof across the street stands Homelander, who smirks down at them, clearly having used that super hearing of his to listen in.

“Woah…” Jase utters.

Ben simply keeps his eyes up, watching closely as the star spangled supe gives an informal salute and takes off.

“Dude…” Jason says.  “That’s fucked.”

Yeah, Ben thinks to himself. I’m fucked.

By the end of the third week, Ben’s absolutely had it.  He can feel Homelander’s eyes piercing through the walls of his apartment building.  In fact, Benjamin knows right where he’s sitting.  He’d been laying in bed relaxing before his usual run through the city.

He hates to admit it, but… he’s given some thought to the offer.  Moral objections aside, he could make a real difference at Vought.  Plus, there’s the opportunity to try to change it from the inside out.  Maybe leak some information here or there…

Nothing he’s vocalized, of course.  He’d never risk Homelander hearing something and come barreling through the wall to laser him in two for even considering it.

But enough was enough.  These little interferences in his life weren’t going to stop, it seemed, unless he did something about it.  Ben swings his legs off the side of the bed and stares down at where his suit lays in a pile on the floor.  There was no sense in even putting the fucking mask on.  Homelander can see through it anyway.  He knows who he is, where he lives…  The jig is up as far as secrecy with Homelander goes, if there was even any to begin with.

Ben walks to the window and peers out.  Just as he predicted, Homelander is stood on the building across the street, looking almost amused at the bug’s knowledge of his location.

“Get over here,” Ben says.  He knows Homelander can hear it.  “For once, you’re being invited inside.”  With that, he opens the window.

What the fuck am I doing, Ben thinks to himself.  Fuck, I should’ve gone out, not let him in.  Fuck, fuck fuck…

It’s a curious thing to watch Homelander float through the window perfectly horizontal.  It never occurred to Ben that flying supes could do that so easily…

“Benjamin,” Homelander greets.  “Nice of you to finally extend the offer.”

The bug plops down on the edge of his bed, gesturing to his desk chair for Homelander to sit.  It’s almost comedic to watch him swish his cape out of the way to do so.

“Y’know, I can cope with you stalking me,” Ben says, getting right to the point.  “But rifling through my drawers is overdoing it.”

Homelander smiles, and it’s almost scary to see him so close in such an intimate environment.  Outside, he’s practically god.  In here he’s… scary in a different way.  Especially when Ben notices just how sharp his canines are.

“Couldn’t help it, Benny.  Besides, you’ve got some interesting things.”  Homelander turns in the chair just slightly to rap his gloved knuckles against the top drawer of Ben’s nightstand.  “Especially in here, you dirty boy.”

Ben’s cheeks flare red immediately.  Fuck, he hadn’t even considered–

“You are interesting, I’ll tell ya.” Homelander continues.  “You’re so fucking ordinary, and yet you’re about to be in The Seven.  Nothin’ to you besides that do-good moral compass of yours and some spandex.”

“What do you mean, ‘about to,’” Ben asks incredulously.  “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Homelander gives him a smile so sinister that it practically takes a bite out of his resolve.  “Oh, I know.  But you’re going to once we’re done here, trust me.”

Ben cocks a brow.  “... explain.”

“Not yet.” 

Homelander leans to the side and snags one of those guitars he was clearly very familiar with.  “You’re a peculiar little thing, you know that?”  He says, finger plucking awkwardly at a nylon string that damn near snaps under his strength.  It makes Ben cringe a little.  “You’re so full of anxiety I can practically smell it on you, but you still have the balls to tell me no.  You’re pretty much a shut in as...” Homelander gestures vaguely to Ben to describe his secret identity.  “But then you’re such a social butterfly.  Thought you might’ve just had a thing for being stared at in spandex, but you’re quite the little ray of sunshine in the leotard.”

“I–”

Homelander holds up a finger.

“And you’re so fucking sad, little Benjamin.”  

What..? 

“You’re lonely.  Just that one buddy of yours and that strained relationship with good ol’ mom and dad… plus that cousin or whatever the boy is.”  Homelander plucks the lowest string, a deep open note reverberating through the body of the instrument.  “But you’re so sad, crying at night like you do.”

But I haven’t– 

“I can tell what you’re thinking… You haven’t had a bad night in a few weeks.”  Homelander says nonchalantly.  “What, you think I wasn’t scoping you out before that night in the alley?  Please.  I know you down to the fucking lube you use at this rate.”

“What the f–”

“Astroglide, by the way.”  He says, wiggling his brows.  “You want that spider-high you get when you’re swinging around to be permanent?  Quit your little desk job, stop being a pussy, and join my team.  Go have time to live your personal life– I don’t fucking care– just do the right thing.”

Ben’s gaze falls and he picks at his fingers.  Fucker found the sore spot and was using it to his full advantage.

“Don’t look so sad, Benny boy.  I’m offering you the relief you’ve been looking for, aren’t I?”  Homelander smiles almost genuinely.  “So exhausted all the time, too.  When was the last time you got eight hours, huh?  I’ve seen the way that little tingle in your head wakes you up all the time.  Plus all those late nights… you must be so burnt out.”

“Shut up…” Ben tries, but it comes out more sad than he means for it to.  He hates how fucking right Homelander is.

“Friends, family, rest… No more rent struggles…” Homelander sets the instrument down and turns toward Ben.  “You know what else?”  He asks, voice almost sweet.  When Ben looks at him, he grins.  “Ma and Pa will thank you when I don’t drop an oil tanker on them from orbit.”

Ben’s blood runs cold.

“Yeah, I flew by a day ago.  Nice little suburban house in Annville, right?  Pops has a nice red truck.”

No, no, no– fuck– 

“Be a shame if they had to suffer because of you, wouldn’t it?”

Benjamin sits stock still, his only movements being shakes of fear and anger.  How fucking dare he?  How dare he hold something so–

“Like I said, you will be joining The Seven.  And, if you do, no harm will come to mom and pop– I promise.” 

He knows he has no choice now.

“So, little Benjamin,” Homelander says, rising from the chair.  “What’ll it be?”

As if he has any choice.

“Fine…”

“Oh,” Homelander cocks a brow.  “What was that?  I think I need you to be a little louder.”

“Fine,” Ben says, more conviction in his voice this time.  

“Say it.  The whole thing.” Homelander demands, smile growing even wider.  “You’re gonna join The Seven.”

“I’m…” Ben sighs.  “I’m going to join The Seven.”

“Attaboy!” Homelander chirps, clapping his gloved hands together.  “Alright, buddy, get some shoes on and let's get you to the tower for your big signing day!  Did I mention you get a sign-on bonus?  Pretty killer, right?”

Dejectedly, Ben stands from the bed and slips his shoes on.

He supposes he’ll be signing his contract in his pajamas.

[waatched]

━  he/him ┆pan, trans 🏳️‍⚧️ writing, art, virtual photography. just a guy tryna own his blog :]

massive nerd of watch_dogs and cyberpunk 2077. as aforementioned, i drabble sometimes, but i mainly enjoy posting about my ocs, especially my main one ━ cassian 'the hound' pearce. he is together with kerry eurodyne. ⠀⠀⠀☆ ship name; a 'runners symphony ⚠️ i doubt i will post consistently, but if i do have an audience and people who wanna see what i do, then i might just up the activity here. ❌ please do not pm me for drama, or to use me as your therapist. you will be blocked on sight. the same goes for older acquaintances who have been blocked. ❌ i am also not comfortable with people who ship their ocs and/or themselves with aiden pearce, except for my friends. please do not follow me if you do so.

⠀⠀ that's mostly about it. more about me after the header.

⠀⠀⠀hi. my name's gavin, i'm a 16 yr old boy with a passion for tech, art and divine machinery. any mdni blogs DO NOT INTERACT. i follow back everyone who interacts and/or follows me. i like poetry and greek mythology as well! i'm really into the god of war series and the sagas of epic: the musical. other games i really like on the side are gta v, the far cry series, mirror's edge and overwatch. ⠀⠀⠀i also really adore the shows breaking bad and better call saul. i think about them about as much as i do with the primary ones. i'm a beginner modder for cyberpunk 2077, with no mods published. i probably will never release a mod. i am participating in gamedev with a dear friend of mine, and also am coding a small visual novel on the side.

⠀⠀⠀OTHER SOCIALS I AM ON;

⠀🔺instagram - virtual photography

⠀🔺instagram - art

⠀🔺discord (ask in pm)

⠀🔺ao3

⠀🔺blue sky

⠀🔺carrd

⠀⠀⠀thank you for stopping by! i hope, that by reading this pinned post, it accustomed you with me. i’m more than grateful that you read this. see you around, choom!

⠀⠀⠀CREDITS;

my mutuals, for the idea of this pinned post strangergraphics-archive and firefly-graphics for the dividers. you, for reading this! thank you! <3

[mdhwrites]

Idea Pitch: A Teenage Clark in Metropolis

“What are you doing up so late, honey?” “Oh, just running some numbers. The crops haven’t really recovered since the drought last year and prices for things are going up and... And...” “We’ll make it through. We always do.” “I know. I know. Just... Well, we probably won’t be able to spend the money for Clark to really join any clubs or the like, let alone a new, good camera after he broke the last one and that has me thinking about those fliers...” “John...” “I know! It’d be best to have him at home but if Luthor Corp can give him a place in Metropolis, with a better education, than maybe that’s what’s best for him, at least for a year. And let’s face it, our little man is too super to just end up in a little town like ours. Not when he has such big dreams.”

“I’m not going to say you’re wrong but...”

Clark stood just out of sight, tears in his eyes as he balled his hands into fists. It wasn’t out of anger though. No, it was out of determination. He remembered how lean things had gotten last year and felt bad every time his strength caused his parents problems. Every time they needed new hinges or nails to deal with a mistake of his. The idea of leaving home, of going off to the big city like this, did scare him but if it helped his folks breathe than he had to be ready.

And so Clark enters a set of dorms in the heart of Metropolis for those who are without and need a jump start on their future, all provided by Luthor Corp. Kids from all over the state are picked by income, grades and merit to be a part with them all going to Metropolis High School as freshman. Amongst them is a kid chosen for his photography submission, Jimmy Olsen who bunks just above Clark, a girl with so much gumption that she spent two weeks hounding the people running the program before showing a potential future in journalism with a piece on the program that went viral, even if an exporting error made it so her name wasn’t actually on it. The program leads had gotten the file though and so Lois Lane joined.

There was one oddity amongst them though. One person who seemed genuinely angry to be there and at least at first regards Clark’s overtures of kindness with suspicion. He knows how people really are after all. Corporate flunkies are always trying to get close to him after all, hoping to curry favor with his father. And now he’s been banished here for ‘perspective’.

But just maybe, Lex might manage to get some, especially since other kids here seem to be interested in taking down this ‘Superman’ who rises up not long after they all move in. At bare minimum, they’ll make good pawns, especially with how naive Clark is about the world.

=========

This idea came to me because of family stuff that really isn’t mine to share. I don’t even think I’d claim this to be MAWS related but I tagged it anyways because if I did do it, I’d be using the dynamics and characterizations set by that but making them probably almost a decade younger than they are in the show. Admittedly, just due to my strengths, “Teenage Superman” is an idea that had floated into my head for this show already, this just theoretically gave it an initial hook and premise.

Do I plan to actually do it? Probably not anytime soon. Probably never. But that’s what these idea pitches are for. To share that which I won’t get to. I hope you all liked it.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead, If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

[pointreyesjournal]

The Amnesiac : ep41

Yachats - Several Weeks Ago

One could argue that the “freedom of the road” is not the ability to go “where” you want, it’s the ability to go “when” you want. The modus operandi of the lone motorcyclist is to wake, dress, eat, fuel and go without dilly dallying or lollygagging. Any activity delaying departure is anathema to the cause. The freedom of the road is the freedom from outside influence and the ability to depart, explore and arrive on one’s own timetable.

Autumn is anathema to all of this.

I delay my departure as long as excruciatingly possible hoping I will make up time en route and catch Autumn before day’s end. I think it’s a genius plan until I reach the first little town and realize that there are an infinite number of side streets, gas stations, cafes and coffee shops, curio stores and tourist traps and that I could easily pass her without noticing. Even on a route as insular as Highway 1, the number of opportunities to pass each other unnoticed is essentially unlimited. It’s maddening and short of combing every street in every city, my only reasonable course of action is to just carry on, be aware of my surroundings, keep an eye on the parking lots and overlooks, and hope that Autumn’s right about fate intervening. If it happens it happens, but there’s nothing I can do to alter the outcome.

Fate will decide, so I continue northbound.

And so goes probably the worst day of motorcycling I’ve ever had. I feel like a hound coursing an invisible hare. Mile after mile of gorgeous tarmac passes beneath my wheels, but I don’t enjoy a minute of it. I am singularly focused on finding Autumn, meaning that my eyes are blind to everything else. Brookings, Pistol River, Gold Beach, Port Oxford, Bandon, Coos Bay, charming I’m sure. I’m looking, but not actually seeing them. They merely serve as the backdrop in a futile quest to find a white SUV.

Fuck fate. This sucks.

200 miles into the ride and my nerves are frayed. I set my sights on the next town, Yachats, Oregon as today’s final destination. 15 miles to go and Autumn is nowhere to be found, so I’ll probably just check into a cheap motel and find a brick wall somewhere that I can kick in frustration until my toes either bleed or break.

A few miles south of Yachats there are a couple of dozen cars parked at a scenic overlook. I decide to drive though the parking area once in a last ditch effort to find Autumn before giving up for the day. As expected, she’s not here. Dejected, I decide to make lemons from lemonade, park the Ducati and walk down the path to see why everyone is parked here. Maybe I’ll have at least one good experience today.

Turns out it’s a spot called Thor’s Well. It’s an overly dramatic name for a seemingly bottomless sinkhole in the rocks of the Oregon coastline. The hole fills and drains (quite dramatically) as the waves wash over it. It’s a scene that’s familiar to anyone with a computer screensaver, as it has been photographed a million times by a million people. I decide to try my hand at photography too and pull my iPhone from my pocket. I hold it high overhead aimed right at The Well. The waves wash in and drain away and at the exact moment I’m pressing the shutter button I feel a sharp poke in my ribs and someone yells “BO!!” from behind me. I’m startled like a cat seeing a cucumber, and my iPhone goes flying through the air and to the bottom of the ocean. I turn around to see Autumn gasping with laughter at my being startled, but also mortified for having sent my iPhone down to Davey Jones’ Locker. But I’m so thrilled to see her that I’m not at all upset about the phone. Hours of stress evaporate in an instant and we collapse into each other’s arms with laughter and I bury my nose in her hair so I can breathe deeply in her essence.

“I guess your phone number isn’t going to do me any good now.”

“I knew I’d see you again David” she tells me with bright and reassuring eyes.

“Do you always cast your fate to the wind Autumn?”

“Only when I need to be absolutely certain of something.”

“The universe never lies, does it?” I ask rhetorically.

“The universe is a cruel and unforgiving place sometimes … but it never lies.”

I have faith in her faith, and find truth in her truth. I feel like we’re two atoms in a molecule that have fallen into each other’s orbit. We’ve only just met, but our attraction is so strong it would take a nuclear chain reaction to tear us apart.

“What are you doing here?” she asks me.

“Just passing by. What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to photograph The Well at sunset” she tells me. I spy a little rucksack with her Leica and a tripod on the ground a few feet behind her.

“Well do you want some company, or should I go into town and find a cheap motel for the night?”

“Neither” she tells me, then she reaches into her pocket and hands me a hotel room key. “I don’t want you on the road at dusk on account of me. This stretch of highway is crawling with mule deer. Great Horned Rats we call them. Go to the Adobe Resort in Yachats, Room 21 and wait for me there. I’m 30 minutes behind you. Freshen up so we can have a nice dinner. Remember, tonight is my treat.”

I love her confidence. There’s nothing sexier than a woman with a plan.

I stuff the hotel key into my pocket and we share a brief but passionate kiss goodbye. I turn to walk up the trail and she smacks me on the butt. “Go on big boy! By the time you get freshened up, I’ll be there.”

The Ducati roars to life and 15 minutes later I’m arriving at the Adobe Resort in Yachats. It’s the finest hotel in town. Each room has a panoramic view of the sea. The key card beeps me into Room 21 on the first try and I find that Autumn has already been here to unpack and freshen up. Her suitcase is wide open, and the bathroom mirror is still foggy from her shower. There is a pair of panties on the floor. I’m not sure if they’re strategically placed or accidentally left behind, but it really doesn’t matter. I ball them up in my hands and smell them like a chef smelling a handful of freshly picked herbs. That aroma, my God she’s delicious! Women don’t perspire, they just ooze sensuality.

I deviate from my normal check-in routine and instead take a nice long shower. Then I towel off and just as I’m affixing the last button on the fly of my Levi 501 jeans, I hear the card key beep at the door. Autumn looks startled to see me, like she spent the entire afternoon rehearsing for this moment, but never anticipated that I would be standing there half naked when she came through the door. She looks me over carefully but is mindful not to say anything silly to ruin the moment as she places her camera rucksack down near her luggage. I pull a clean t-shirt over my head and work it down my torso past my ribcage. Her eyes are on my bare belly like a lioness on a hunt.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Very” she tells me.

“Have you decided on what you want for dinner?”

I see her hand sweep across the light switch and the room goes pitch black, and from out of the darkness I hear a single word whispered delicately across nervous Scandinavian lips.

“You.”

[celebratetheclassics]

The Student of Prague (1926) dir. Henrik Galeen 

Things march from worse to still worse. This is what comes of selling one's shadow to a stranger. There is, as is obvious, the really clever stalking of the shadow and the merging and cross-currents of two images. We never lose sight of the identity of either; this too is a triumph. The spectre is the slim gaunt creature in the early student get-up, the man is the somewhat out at heels distrait discarded gentleman. The spectre grows in distinction, in power apparently. The man diminishes. The spectre remains the Student of Prague and Baldwin, his begetter, is hounded by this Frankenstein. Doors are no impediment. The spectre in triumph of film-photography glides discreetly through and into the most sacred milieu. Baldwin the man sinks into the scum of fetid cellars. The spectre and the little early mistress, the small, common, yet uncommonly pretty, violet-girl sink with him. Baldwin becomes violent, destructive. The spectre shares his evil end, gloats in it. Yet apart... having some life outside humanity... following, following, till we want to scream, “strangle him get rid of him, one or the other, let this duality perish if Baldwin perish with it...”

The Contribution of H.D, Conrad Veidt: The Student of Prague in Close Up 1927-1933, Cinema and Modernism.

[uncpanda]

Small town Moose: Part 1

Prompt: When your best friend convinces you to move to DC with her, you’re more than a little lonely. You’re used to life in a small town, not a big city. For the first time in your life you’re mostly alone with your only company being your dog Moose. Then you meet a single dad and his son, and you realize maybe you’re not so alone? 

AN: After watching the show, I noticed that Hotch is fairly open outside of work, he’s not as serious and he smiles more. This is taking place about two years after Haley’s death, Jack is six. Reader is around 25-28 I rewrote this thing about six times, hopefully y’all will like it. 

“Can I pet your puppy?” 

You look up from your book to see a little boy smiling at you. He’s the first friendly face you’ve seen in the two weeks since you’ve moved to DC. “Of course, Moose loves attention.” 

The boy giggles at the name, “He’s not a moose.” 

“No, but when he was little he had these long legs and big paws, and he just reminded me of a moose.” He laughs at that explanation and moves in to pet your dog. He’s extremely gentle for a child, and Moose, the attention whore that he is, eats up every moment of it. 

“He’s really fluffy.” 

You smile, and lower your voice as though you’re going to tell him a secret, “You know what Moose loves more than anything in the world?” 

“What?” 

“Treats.” 

At the word your goofy dog becomes fully alert, and starts to do a full body shimmy. The boy laughs again and you pull out one of Moose's treats. “Do you want to give it to him?” 

He nods and you give him instructions on how to give it. You watch as the boy does exactly as instructed, it’s the best moment you’ve had in weeks. 

“Jack!” 

Your head snaps up at the sound of a frantic voice. The boy smiles and waves his hand, “Hi daddy.” 

The man comes towards the two of you at a full run, and when he reaches you he immediately starts checking the boy over for any injuries. When he seems satisfied that the boy is safe, he pulls him into a hug. “You can’t walk away like that buddy. You scared me.” 

“I saw a puppy.” 

The man’s eyes close and lets out a gentle laugh, “Just let me know next time, and we’ll go see the puppy together.” 

The boy, Jack, nodds, and very excitedly starts telling his dad all about Moose. The man listens with rapt attention and when Jack is done he turns to you and his dad and asks, “Can I play with Moose?”

You can tell his dad is struggling with what to say, so you step in, “As long as it’s okay with your dad, I don’t mind.” 

The man looks at you and you reassure him, “Moose is very gentle, he has all his shots, and honestly if your son doesn’t mind tiring him out some more I won’t object.” 

The man smiles, “Sounds good to me.” 

Jack and Moose can’t go too far. You have a long lead for him but not long enough for him to leave your sight. The man settles on the bench next to you, “Thank you for watching him until I found him. I took a phone call, I looked away for a second . . . it was stupid.” 

You shake your head, “Sounds human to me, and to be honest I didn’t even think about his lack of guardian. He was so excited about Moose, it was really cute.”  

He raises an eyebrow at that, and then he smiles, “In my not so humble opinion, Jack is the cutest kid I’ve ever seen.” 

You laugh at that show of fatherly pride, but you can’t help but agree. You hold out your hand and introduce yourself, “I’m Y/F/N Lance. It’s nice to meet you.” 

He takes your hand, it’s nice and warm, and sends the smallest tingle through you, “Aaron Hotchner.” 

The two of you watch Moose and Jack play for a minute before he asks, “Are you from around here?” 

“Just moved here two weeks ago, under protest.” 

“Military?” 

You shake your head, “No. I do website design and some photography on the side. I moved here at the request of my best friend. She got a new job here, and needed a roommate. She didn’t like the idea of rooming with someone she didn’t know, so she hounded me until I said yes.” 

“That sounds . . .” 

“Like torture? No. She means well, and to be honest it’s probably good to get away.” 

“You don’t sound like you believe that.” 

You laugh, “Is this an interrogation?” 

His lips quirk and he shakes his head, “Not at all. It’s a side effect of the job I suppose.” 

“Cop?”

“Something like that.” 

Before the conversation can go any further, Moose and Jack are back. Your dog, ever the dramatic, makes a scene out of lying down on his side and panting. Jack is quick to follow his lead, and climbs into Aaron’s arms. 

You watch as he adjusts the boy, and stands up, “Well, it looks like you have a tired dog and I have a tired kid. I’d say with the exception of a close heart attack, this was a successful outing.” 

You smile and nod, while pouring some water into Moose’s collapsible dish. “It was nice meeting you Aaron. And it was wonderful meeting you Jack.” 

The boy smiles and buries his head in his father’s neck. And it’s with a little bit of sadness that you watch them go. You give Moose a few minutes to get ready to walk again. The walk back to your apartment building is less than a mile, but it’s not like you have anywhere to be; you’d finished unpacking everything within three days, your home office was set up, and you’d started getting Moose’s new schedule under control. 

You pick up pizza, wings, and anything else that you’re craving. The leftovers will mean no cooking for a few days, and that honestly sounds like heaven. The pizza place is less than a block from your place and you make it home in record time. 

You’re just walking into the lobby when you bump into someone. You apologize as you regain your footing and look up into a familiar set of eyes. Aaron is quick to steady you, and ask, “Are you okay?” 

“Fine. I feel stupid for trying to manuver a dog and food at the same time, but I’m fine.” 

He smiles, “You live in this building?” 

You nod, and give him your apartment number, he laughs, “That’s right next to Jack and me.” 

This time you laugh with him, “Here, let me help you with that.” Before you can protest he’s taken the majority of the food out of your arms, and all you can say is thank you. 

“It’s really not a problem. We’re going in the same direction.” 

The elevator ride is silent for a minute before he says, “Jack is going to be ecstatic that Moose lives next door.” Moose wags his tail at the mention of his name, “He’s all Jack could talk about on the way home. He told Jessica all about him on the phone.” 

“His mom?” 

“Aunt. His mother passed away about two years ago.” 

There's sadness in his voice, but you don’t say you’re sorry. You’d always hated those words in times of grief, “It’s never easy to lose a loved one.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

There’s another moment of silence before you get the nerve to ask, “Have you an Jack eaten yet?” 

“What?” 

“I ordered too much food. That should teach me to order before I’m starving. So if you and Jack haven’t eaten yet, why don’t you guys come over.” 

You watch him consider it for a moment, before he agrees, “That would be lovely. Thank you.” 

You drop Moose’s leash when the elevator doors open, and he goes straight for the apartment door. “We’ll be over in about five minutes, is that okay?”

“Perfect.” 

Sure enough, five minutes later, right on the dot, there’s a knock on the door. On the other side is a very excited Jack, and an amused looking Aaron. The boy breaks out of his father’s hold and makes a mad dash for Moose. A second later he’s curled up on the dog bed too. 

Aaron looks flummoxed, and you reassure him, “I just washed the dog bed if that’s any comfort.” 

“It is, but I think I may have been replaced by a dog.” 

Jack has no interest in food at the moment, instead he’s telling Moose about everything he knows. So you and Aaron eat together, “How long ago did you move in again?” 

“Two weeks ago.” 

“And you’re all unpacked and everything. I had boxes around my place for months.” 

It was something to do in between work times. The two of you fall into an easy conversation. You talk about your small hometown, he tells you about his life. He’s quick to explain that he travels a lot for work, and his sister-in-law helps care for Jack. Jack eventually eats, before going back to lay next to Moose. It’s nearing ten o’clock when you both notice the time. Jack is conked out, one arm wrapped around Moose, while one of your dog’s paws rest on Jack. 

You bring a finger to your lips to signal for silence, and sneak back to your office. You grab your camera, and take several shots. When you’re satisfied you turn back to Aaron and say, “I’ll send them to you, but it was too cute a moment to pass up on.” He just smiles, and you can’t help but think that maybe you’re not as alone as you originally thought. 

[andyxsharma]

TASK #1: NOTHING HAUNTS US LIKE THE THINGS WE DON’T SAY. ( task )

18TH MAY 1888. DARKROOM, ANDY SHARMA’S FLAT, LONDON. TRIGGER WARNINGS: body harm, body horror, gore, mutilation

( 🎵)

ANDY MADE IT home right before it began to rain. The moonlight that had followed him home was now completely gone, and it was by muscle memory alone that house key swiftly met door lock, letting him soundlessly make his way inside, leave his boots and coat by the side of the door, and double-lock it behind him.

Anand Sharma’s job for the Police used to be different. Scotland Yard had their own photographers, but after Emma Elizabeth Smith’s death in Whitechapel last month, they had been calling on him more and more. And while he appreciated that they liked how he worked, they tended to call him for murders—and people disappeared every week in the East End. People who the newspapers figured wouldn’t be missed. People who politicians believed wouldn’t be remembered.

And what he’d photographed earlier today on the outskirts of London, the last vestiges of fog dissipating in the morning gloom as he clutched his coat closer to him, and his camera bag even closer, still chilled him: on public property yet somehow untouched for months, a haphazard dumping ground for bodies. Some were already dug up from where they’d been buried under wet, packed soil, others still trapped underneath. And while the detective at the scene had excused him from photographing them in greater detail later, while capturing the scene, Andy had witnessed one thing that linked every dead body together: a thin knife-made line under each neck, creating unnatural smiles on bodies that had decomposed weeks before. 

It had been terrible, and horrifying, and sad. And while the detectives at the scene had deduced fairly quickly that this dumping ground wasn’t the work of whoever had committed the last Whitechapel murder, it was disturbing, wasn’t it? That people could disappear for days and weeks and months and no one would be the wiser—until an unfortunate soul and their hound stumbled upon their bodies, hours and hours from home, weeks and weeks dead.

///

Andy had grown up thinking that photography was an art, but on dark and stormy nights like this one, it was a science. As the photographer worked on developing the final print of the night, the image slowly appearing in deepening grays beneath the crimson light dangling above it, he stood from his seat. Letting out a yawn, Andy stretched his limbs until they let out a single, satisfying crack, right before something caught his eye in one of the prints hanging from the wire to dry.

Eyebrows pulling together, Andy reached for the print, unclipping it from where it hung. And that was when he saw it: a slick-wet photograph of the crime scene he had witnessed earlier, pale body after body after body, clothes askew and tinted darker where blood had dripped down long ago—and at the very edge of the photo, a blurred shape. 

While it could have been a person, having the height of one, it had no face. The space where eyes and nose could have been was smudged as if by a determined thumb; but below, stark at the bottom of its face, was black and black and black. A horrible gaping maw.

A chill ran down his spine, and Andy nearly dropped the photograph, only his reflexes keeping him from losing his hold. “What the—?” Breath escaped him in a shaky gust, and he set the print aside, reclipping the photograph further down the wire, then reached for the next. And the next.

The shape wasn’t there in every photograph. Not in the close-up photos he’d taken. But look, there it was again, closer to him somehow. And again. A smudged shape never appearing directly in the light, nor treading on the ground. A strange, indefinable, indecipherable something in the corners of his vision, just out of sight.

///

Growing up, Andy’s mother had told him ghost stories to warn him to stay on well-lit roads at night and not stray too far from home, but his family did believe in them—not as a curiosity or a sideshow attraction the way that others often did nowadays, but as an ordinary, yet sad, part of life and death. Bhoots were souls tethered to earth, having lost their way on the road to their next life. Souls that shouldn’t be forced to leave, because everyone deserved a chance, living or dead. Even those torn violently from life had to be treated with caution and wariness, but also respect.

But as the last photograph finally hung from the wire, Andy’s hand resting on the doorknob as he readied himself to leave the now warmly lit darkroom, he couldn’t help feeling a chill run down his spine.

Because he had felt something that morning: a presence deep in the copse of trees behind him and the police officers, where the sun hadn’t reached—something eerie and inhuman, watching him. He had felt it through his scarf and his coat, the way every hair on his body had stood on end—but turning around, staring out into the darkness before him, he’d seen nothing. 

Perhaps the horror of the dumping ground was still clinging to him. Photographing crime scenes always took a little something out of Andy; it always made him miss his family more, wishing that he could take the fastest carriage home and pull his mother into his arms for the longest goddamn hug. Then Nisha, and Priti, and Sunny, and Papa, too, even if he grumbled about how much taller their Anand was every single time.

But as Andy gazed out at the darkroom he had mapped out over years and years of working there, it felt like the edges of the room were darker somehow—as if the shadows he knew as well as he knew his own, were nebulously creeping towards him, inch by inch.

The photographer exhaled a shaky chuckle, his hand still on the door knob, lips cracked and dry. “Well, I suppose Daya’s right—I do need to get that camera checked, don’t I,” he said aloud. But his laugh was breathless in the nearly empty room, and when he turned off the light, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him, it wasn’t only his hands that shook, but his courage, too.

END.

[q-posts]

Wordless Wednesday -whippet Time to Zone

[hecohansen31]

KINKTOBER (17: Breeding Kink)

Supreme! Michael+Hawthorne Headmast! Reader:

(If you are confused about this universe just read this).

Hey guys, I’ll put the keep reading when I am home! 💙 (Sorry! 😭)

SUMMARY: Michael’s desire for you is suddenly so unhibited and strange and you can’t help but wonder what has caused it... although you are not complaining about it

WARNINGS: Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink/Creampie.

He had hounded you as a starving dog, looking for some food all day.

But you were still on work duty and hadn’t been able to follow his devious suggestions.

You had calmed his nervous state, promising to be his that night, and as soon as the lesson finished you had moved onto your shared suite in a little house linked to Hawthorne but far away enough not to have you students all up in your business.

You had lived in that little house long before you were wedded to the Supreme, but since you two were lawfully or unlawfully wedded, it seemed to warm and happy...

... still missing something, although neither you and Michael had pressured each other for that.

You lived in a blissfull peace for long, only you two and were beyond than happy with that.

When you had arrived, Michael hadn’t been home, since he might have thought about carrying some business over at Robinchaux, meanwhile he waited for you.

You had taken the chance for a nice relaxing bath, completely diving under the water, exiting it only as the water water had become cold and you had found yourself to be too lazy to warm it up again.

Then you took care of your body with lotions and perfume, slipping into an elegant lacey nightgown, black as the night waiting outside which you stared into, wondering what was happening outside to keep your lover away from you.

It couldn’t help but be more ironic: you had avoided him all day, just to miss him by night.

What a fickle thing was love...

Strong arms enveloped you in a warm hug, almost surprising you, meanwhile you adjusted yourself to the warmth, almost grateful for it.

“Hello, beloved, haven’t you missed me?” he asked softly in your ear, before biting it gently, making you moan softly your answer which was a clear and playful “no”.

You escaped his grip elegantly, turning to face him, smirking lightly and finding a dark need in your lover’s face, something that brought your core to sing, meanwhile you did your best not to let it affect you too much, wanting to tease Michael more.

“... oh what lies does your mouth spin” chastised you the Supreme, meanwhile he chased you around the bed, finally catching up to you and throwing you onto the bed.

And there that dark and aroused stare chaned, becoming devilish famished.

“What has happened to you, lover?” you asked softly, grabbing his face to make him stare up at you, enamoured with those pretty azure eyes, which had grown a shade darker due to anger and arousal.

Michael didn’t answer immediately, pushing up your nightgown up to reveal your naked stomach and your raised breasts, standing at attention, which he licked throughly, biting down on them to leave a light mark, before he started suckling them softly, gaining a few good screams from you and your totally loss of memory about your own question.

And when he answered it seemed nothing more than an hungry man answer, showing you his teeth.

“You are fertile”.

It all hit you up in that moment: a month ago you had gone off the pill, since you and Michael had both talked about a possible baby, but you hadn’t been able to try much, mostly using the motto “if it happens, it happens”.

You hadn’t thought that it would have such an effect on Michael, who had moved onto pushing your panties down your legs, revealing your already wet sex, shining even more due to indeed your fertile window.

He seemed like a starving man being put in front of food for the first time since for ever.

“... and you denied me for all the day, you evil creature” he mumbled, almost whining pathetically, then any moan of displeasure was soothed by him diving his plump lips onto your heat, effectively tasting you and bringing pleasure to your deepest core.

He continued his lapping till he had enough and all his face was full of your juices, a true erotic sight, and solliciting other wetness between your legs, which he collected, just to rub it onto his manhood.

He had just pulled it out from his pants, due to his aching desire, and had gently but with firmeness settled you up comfortably onto your back, spreading your legs and the mess between them, something which brought red onto your cheeks.

He pushed himself into you quickly making you howl for the surprise, and he pushed himself flush onto you, as if he wanted to make you two, one, what would probably happen soon, that night.

You reached onto his hair, pulling on them to smash even closer your lips, to become even further a single being and your kegs blocked themselves behind his ass, pushing him further into you, till he hit your cervix.

“... you are always so fucking tight, wet and warm” he mumbled, into your ear, which he licked softly “I really hope my seed will be able to take its seat into you”.

“Michael, please” you pleaded, as his hips pounded into you, almost as a savage beast, not stopping till he fucking knotted you.

“Are you begging for my cock or my seed?” he taunted you, stopping the violent thrusts for a slower rhythm, making you feel each inch of his manhood, making you feel completely the way he fillled you and the way he was already leaking in you, leaving a slight slickness between your trembling legs.

“Both, damn, both” you chanted, totally lost on the pleasure hooked onto it, and feeling yourself lose your sanity due to the sudden slow rhythm that had brought you onto the verge of madness, not letting you tumble in your own pleasure.

“Will you make me a father, sweetheart?” his tone was sickengly sweet and it didn’t stop you from smiling lightly at the promise of that future.

“Yes, Michael, a million times, yes” and he gently brought your hand to kiss it tenderly, before his thrusts went back to that animalistic rush that brought you to feel a simple bitch in heat, searching the end of that rushed pleasure.

“... then take everything I give you, my beauty” he muttered, pushing himself to hit that special spot inside her, his hands fisting roughly the sheet, till his knuckles went white and his hips moved erratically.

Sweat fell onto your shoulders and you tried your best to reach over, to push him with you.

And you did, with a moan of your rosy lips and a smile.

“Fill me up and make me a mommy” you mumbled in his ear, meanwhile he lost himself in you, coating your sensitive walls with his own cum and falling onto you, still hard inside you.

“Do you think we have made it?” you giggled turning yourself around, and bringing yourself with him, standing atop of him, excited of your conjoined bodies and your joint fluids, mixing together inside of yourself.

“I do think so, my love” he kissed your forehead, before he brought you again under him with a shriek “... but I do think that another round will give us even more chances of success”.

@emmyrosee @blakewaterxx @lovelylangdonx @1-800-bitchcraft @rocketgirl2410 @ladynuwanda @rosegoldrichie @lathraios @frenchbread4ever @bish-ima-clown @eternalnostalgia  @raindeadbarbie @whitetigerlover17 @harmcn @lilwolfgirl86  @photography-ygs @bvbfob @courtcourt2607 @born-of-the-sea @pearlsofperyl @ali-1864 @trilogyss  @otps-4-life @christine-daae-songbird  @babygirls-fav

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (1)

She was twenty when she died.

She’d just graduated with a double first in Literature and Preservation from Exeter. She’d been accepted into a prestigious master’s school in London.

She’d moved into a basement flat with her best friend and a couple of his friends. She’d been glad to escape her childhood house, where her mum and dad traded vicious words over who was getting how much in the divorce.

She’d promised her brother she’d get him out too, once she had a stable place that the courts would approve of. She had been due to interview for a job at a big bookstore chain next week.

And then someone had broken in while her flatmates were out. She shouldn’t have grabbed the knife. That just made the armed man freak out.

The last thing she remembered was a bang, and the blubbered words “I didn’t mean to!”

She wakes up as a baby.

She waves her arms around and cries as an unfamiliar lady with brown hair and brown eyes bends down over her crib, hushing her with more urgency than is really warranted.

Rain hammers down outside and thunder rumbles directly overhead.

Then a man with blue hair and grey eyes arrives. He stinks of copper, and that makes her wail harder.

The man and woman confer, words too fast for her to understand.

Then the man gently presses a cloth which smells chemical and awful to her face, hushing and looking at her with sad eyes while the woman strokes her head.

She struggles, but eventually swirling red circles dance before her eyes and she succumbs to sleep.

She grows, and learns that she is not anywhere remotely like her home anymore.

She looks in mirrors and sees grey eyes like the man’s, brown hair like the woman’s, hair too straight, eyes too angular, skin too pale.

Her new name is Ketsugi Mayu. The woman’s name is Ketsugi Chie, the man’s is Ketsugi Jirou.

They live in a little house, on the outskirts of a village that’s nothing like the village she previously grew up in. It’s too big, too bustling, with large compounds with symbols decorating the exteriors and brightly painted buildings, flat roofs alternating with asian-style pagodas.

Faces carved into a mountainside like a bastardization of Mount Rushmore. Huge trees everywhere, though she couldn’t tell you the type. She never was any good at biology.

Her “parents” escaped to this village from the rainy place before. Both of them work, but the woman takes her with her, or comes back first.

She gets the feeling their neighbors don’t like them very much.

Despite the electricity for lights and plumbing and cooking, there are not electronic communication devices, not like she knew them. Photography, but no video or animation.

Calculators and computers are unheard of, abacus and notebooks in their place.

The food is good though. Fresh and flavorsome, with meals that are usually served in what she mentally called “plate-2-bowls” style, a bowl of rice, a bowl of soup, and a meat or vegetable dish in the center.

The woman she is supposed to call her “mother” scolded her for ages the first time she dumped the rice out of the bowl onto the plate and tried to eat it that way.

The man she is supposed to call her “father” just laughed and said how lucky they were to have a daughter who would eat everything given to her.

And she did. Even if she doesn’t like the flavors, she eats it all and leaves no scraps.

One Piece taught her that those who waste food are scum, after all. She’ll never learn how the series ended now, so she does her best to live up to the ideals of her favorite characters in its place.

She probably should’ve seen it coming in the end.

The story she was read at bedtime was called “The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi”. There were constantly people dressed in dark clothes jumping across the roofs.

There were stalls in the market that sold throwing knives and stars and japanese swords.

But she didn’t realize exactly what world she’d been reincarnated into until she sees a little boy around her age, with blonde hair and blue eyes and three familiar lines like whisker marks across each cheek.

He’s racing away from a severe woman dripping with orange paint, cackling even as she screams, “GET BACK HERE NARUTO, YOU LITTLE DEMON!!”

She’s four, so she promptly bursts into tears and remains in a strop for the rest of the week.

Naruto doesn’t have food.

It’s dumb and doesn’t involve her and she shouldn’t care because she never even read this series because it was stupid and sexist and dumb and pirates will always be better than ninjas no matter what stupid morons on the internet who have no interpersonal relationships say—

But Naruto doesn’t have food.

She saw the food vendors at the market slap away his money, yell at him for trying to steal from them, chase him away from their stalls with rotten produce.

And he goes away empty handed.

Every. Damn. Time.

Sanji wouldn’t let him go empty handed.

Fuck.

She buys three lunch boxes and an “easy cook recipes” book from a lady who coos at her.

She buys extra rice and ingredients so that she doesn’t use up her “family’s” food.

She decides on a sweeter, more protein-focused meal for breakfast, and presses rashers of bacon and scrambled eggs between slices of crusty bread, filling the compartments with orange slices and strawberries and a plain yogurt.

For lunch she tries and fails to recreate Ketsugi Chie’s perfectly triangular rice balls filled with salmon, but consoles herself that the cucumber and seaweed salad turned out okay, To make up for it, she sticks a packet of gummies in the dessert bit.

She shadowed him the evening before, and so wakes up obscenely early, tugging on the clothes she wore yesterday.

She deposits the food outside his door, checks the sticky notes with “BREAKFAST” and “LUNCH” on them are secure.

Then she raps on the door with all the power her little fists can muster and bolts.

She’s about halfway down the street when she hears the overexcited whoops and fights to keep a smile off her face.

That night, when she comes bearing a thermos filled with miso soup and a box with rice, baked salmon with mushrooms, and dango, the other two are stacked neatly outside the door, licked clean.

She deposits dinner, grabs the other boxes, knocks again, and bolts so she can make curfew.

Here’s her routine.

She goes to bed and falls asleep instantly after preparing that boy’s breakfast and lunch.

She wakes up early and runs through the village while the streets are still asleep and deposits his food, collecting his dinner box and the feedback sheet, knocks and goes, avoiding any traps he’s set up to try and catch her on his endless quest for her identity.

They’re harmless, more intended to snare rather than hurt, and she’s gotten good at dodging.

She gets home in time for her “parents” to wake up, washes up the box while they shower, and goes upstairs to get ready for the day.

Ketsugi Jirou makes her run through katas before breakfast. Sometimes he lets her practice with the wooden sword he carries, and laughs when she falls over, kissing her bruises.

Ketsugi Chie serves breakfast and corrects her table manners and posture. After Jirou has kissed them both and left, she is given lessons in calligraphy and etiquette.

Sometimes Ketsugi Chie takes her along to her job at a tearoom, and she has to observe as her “mother” elegantly serves the patrons and makes polite conversation.

Sometimes she’s left to clean the house and study the books on the history of her family. There are many, but more are missing, references they have no source for.

At lunchtime, she reviews the feedback sheet, making notes of what worked and what didn’t.

She’s supposed to play outside after lunch, so she runs laps. Once Ketsugi Chie’s shift is over, the woman either collects her from home or goes with her straight to the market for food.

She begins making Naruto’s portion the moment groceries are put away, serves it hot and runs it over. She picks up the empty lunch boxes and paper, deposits the dinner, knocks, and runs away.

She eats dinner with her “mother” and “father”. Jirou quizzes her on what she’s learned.

After dinner she washes up the dishes and makes tomorrow’s lunch and breakfast while her parents tell her a bedtime story.

Then she cleans up after herself, and goes to bed, falling asleep instantly.

It’d be nice if this could last.

So of course, the next time she deposits breakfast and lunch, an adult dressed in black with a white mask tackles her to the ground.

She barely avoids spilling the food, clutching it to her chest with one arm as the other is twisted viciously behind her back.

She screams, tries to kick out, but her legs are too little, she can’t hurt the bastard—

The lunchboxes creak ominously under her.

“Who sent you?!” The adult hisses—there’s no way that’s not a man, not with that baritone— “Drop the henge and tell me, or I’ll—”

Something twangs.

A mass of rope drops onto them, followed by chalk dust.

“HAH!” Comes a much higher-pitched yell. “I told you I’d get ‘em, believe it, I told—wait, what the heck?! Jiji, mask-guy’s hurtin’ my friend!”

The click of a cane and the sound of an old man’s voice. “Hound-san.”

The pressure on her arm lessens and the adult gets up, though he doesn’t let go of her. She wheezes, feeling her eyes watering now she can breathe properly.

She hiccups once. Twice. Bursts into floods of noisy tears.

A blurry figure of orange comes into her view. “Hey, hey don’t cry, don’t cry! It’s okay, mask-guy won’t hurt you anymore, Jiji won’t let him, believe it! Yo-you’re the one bringin’ me the food, right? It tastes really good, believe it! M-my name’s Naruto, wh-what’s y-yours? Plea-please don’t—”

The blur of orange begins crying as well.

“Oh dear.” The old man sighs.

The old man takes them to the tower in the center of the village, drawing curious stares at the sight of two wailing children, one bleached white by chalk dust, following him.

The tower is scary. It reminds her of government buildings, with lots of people in green or grey jackets or white masks moving from one place to the next like fire ants, ready to turn and bite intruders to their nest at a moment’s notice.

She doesn’t work out who the queen ant is until the old man sits behind the big desk in the room at the top of the tower, and another mask brings her and Naruto water at his gesture.

“Now, let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?” Says the old man, smiling genteelly.

A shiver goes down her spine.

The questions should be easy. What’s her name, how old is she, where does she live, who are her parents, where do they work, does she have any siblings, what are her hobbies.

But her tongue is stuck to the top of her mouth and when she tries to speak, she just makes a pathetic little croaking sound, no matter how much water she swallows.

The man who hurt her gets more and more tense with every failed answer.

The old man just looks sadder, like she’s failing a test, like he’s going to let the mask hurt her again—

Naruto asks, “Can you make ramen?”

She swallows. “I—I’ve never had it. I don’t know the ingredients. Is, is it like miso?”

“It’s WAY better than miso, believe it!” Naruto yells. “It’s got noodles and green onions and fish cakes and pork and tofu and chicken and fish and seaweed, and sometimes the broth can taste like miso but better and sometimes it can be spicy and Ichiraku’s is the best, and I’ll take you there so you can have some, believe it!”

She frowns. “How can it have pork and chicken and fish? That doesn’t work. Those meats go with different flavors—like chicken katsu and pork katsu are served with different toppings.”

He blows a raspberry. “They’re not all in the same bowl at one time! There’s different types.”

Her mind ticks over the possibilities. “...So a dashi broth for miso could work? What type of flour are the noodles?”

He shrugs. “I’unno. There’s different types?”

“Of course there are!” And she tells him about wheat vs buckwheat vs rye vs rice flour, and how flour mixed with water can serve as food in a pinch but isn’t sustainable for him because he’s malnourished—

“I’m not mal-no-ished, believe it!” Naruto protests.

She scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. Look, try to touch your thumb and pointer finger around your wrist.”

He looks at her warily, but does as she says easily. There’s enough space between his hand and his wrist that she could wriggle her little finger in there, if she tried.

“See?” She says, holding up her own wrist where her thumb can’t quite reach her finger. “You’re too skinny, because you don’t eat enough. You need to bulk up, and eat to get your vitamins, or you’ll grow up weak and feeble.”

The boy pouts. “S’not my fault the stupid jerkwads in the market won’t sell to me.” He grumbles.

“No, it isn’t.” She replies. “But they sell to me. And those who let people go hungry are scum.”

There’s a wounded noise. She looks up at the forgotten adults, tensing again.

The masked man has vanished. The old man just looks tired, but also...happy?

The old man walks her and Naruto home, and she glimpses many more white masks in the trees. The idea that any one could hurt her at any time has her trembling, fists clenched.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Naruto asks, clutching his lunchboxes close.

“Mayu.” She replies after a moment’s hesitation. “Ketsugi Mayu. I’m five and ten months.”

“I’m Uzumaki Naruto and I’m six, believe it!” He cheers. “Imma be the Hokage one day and take over from Jiji, believe it!”

She frowns up at the old man. “What’s a hokage?”

He laughs. “It’s the ninja entrusted with the safety of the village and all those within. The Hokage specifically is the leader of this Village Hidden in the Leaves, Konoha.”

She looks around.

“This place is way too big to be a village, no matter how you look at it.”

Her parents burst out the door just as they arrive at her house, her father clutching his bokken, her mother still in nightclothes.

They blanch when they see her, the woman reaching out with an abortive hand.

The Hokage bows to them. “Ketsugi-san.” He says. “May I congratulate you on raising such a fine daughter?”

Ketsugi Jirou bows hesitantly back, eyes not leaving her. He has to press a hand to Chie’s shoulder to get her to do the same. “You honor us, Hokage-sama.”

The Hokage smiles and gently pushes her. She totters forward and is swiftly captured in a crushing hug, both adults muttering “Mayu, Mayu.” Like she’ll disappear if they let go.

Her eyes begin watering again, because she’s escaped. She’s safe. For now.

“Otou-sama.” She whimpers. “Okaa-sama.”

She mentally apologizes to her parents in her past life, and the brother she left behind. In their memory, her new family will remain “Otou” and “Okaa”, never “Mummy” and “Daddy”.

“OI, MAYU-CHAN!!”

She half-turns in the hug, sees Naruto and the Hokage some distance away.

“COME GET RAMEN WITH ME TOMORROW!! ICHIRAKU'S IS THE BEST, BELIEVE IT!!” He yells, with far too much volume.

She sniffles. There’s something wrong with Naruto. He lives alone and borderline starves, but the ruler of this village visits him enough that he calls the man “jiji”. People in the street call him “demon” and “monster” openly, but the masked man attacked her for approaching him.

The smart thing to do would be turn him down politely. Thank you, but no thank you. She’s his food provider, she’s not under any obligation to be his friend.

So, of course, she yells back, “EAT YOUR FOOD AND I'LL BE THERE!”

He pumps his fist and whoops, cheering loudly as the Hokage smiles and guides him away.

Mayu Ketsugi and her parents tense as the accusing, silent stares pierce them.

The neighbors never liked them much anyway.

[megalony]

Don’t hurt her

This is a Roger Taylor imagine that has a lot of angst and a bit of fluff in this one I hope you all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez

Warning: Mentions of hostage situation and stabbing.

Roger Taylor masterlist

Part 2

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tilting his head from looking at the magazine resting on (Y/n)'s lap, Roger looked up to see Brian standing in the aisle a few feet away from where he was sitting. His usual small black camera in his hands that he had used to take a picture of the drummer and his wife whilst both of them had been laughing at something about the magazine. Roger's chin was resting on (Y/n)'s shoulder, his arm around her waist as she had one leg crossed over the other, holding the magazine for both of them to see.

Brian had a thing about capturing every moment that the band had, whether that was them getting changed for a concert, them drunk out of their heads or on a plane like they were now. None of the band minded, they posed, they smiled, they pulled silly faces or they simply looked up in time for the camera to take a snapshot of them. It was all good fun and Brian loved to keep scrapbooks of all the photos.

Drifting her eyes from the magazine to Brian, (Y/n) watched him smile at the photo before turning around so he could take a picture of Freddie and John who were sitting with one another, chatting away like the rest of them didn't exist.

Turning her head to the left, (Y/n) locked eyes with Roger, a silent question passing from her eyes to his own as he knew what she was asking. A comforting smile pulled at his lips as she shook his head causing her to sigh and nod in relief.

"Just for a scrapbook, sweetheart." Roger whispered before he pressed a kiss to the side of her temple. This was (Y/n)'s first time going on tour with the band and it was the first time she was really getting to know the rest of the boys. She didn't realise Brian was really into photography or that he liked to record all the moments until she saw him taking pictures of the boys at the airport and just now. She found it endearing but at the same time, it was worrying now that he had gotten a photo of her in, maybe even more when she wasn't looking.

It had been a shock for all the band when Roger turned up to the studio one day with a gold band around his wedding ring finger and then announced he had gotten married whilst he had been on a small break to LA. The band knew that Roger had been involved with someone but they hadn't met (Y/n) until Roger brought her to the studio a few weeks back and said he was bringing her along for the tour. Needless to say all of them adored her but they all noticed she was rather reserved and quiet.

Roger had asked the boys if they would help him with something whilst they were on tour, he'd asked if they would help stop the paparazzi and journalists from taking photos when they were in public. Normally the photos weren't much of a problem for Roger, he would smile politely or plainly tell them they were getting in his way and push past them. He told the band that (Y/n) didn't want to be in the media and he was desperate for them not to take so many photos of her.

Roger knew that (Y/n) being with him meant that if one photo of them got out, she would be hounded by people wanting pictures and comments for articles and that was not an option. (Y/n) was taking a big risk being with Roger when he was such a big person in the world because she couldn't have people putting her picture out there or her name.

(Y/n) had been given a new identity after being a witness to a crime and seeing the culprits. Roger met her not long after and he promised he would protect her and make sure she wouldn't be in the media. Coming on tour was a risk to that safety they had built but if no one knew who she was and only got pictures with her in the background with others then she would be fine. Pictures taken by the media was an absolute no and even though the band didn't know the actual reason why they understood about (Y/n) wanting privacy and so were helping in any way they could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Sweetheart, calm down-"

"He's here Rog! He's here and he's gonna find me... I saw him I swear-" (Y/n) fisted her hands in Roger's shirt as he unravelled his arms from around her waist, moving his hand to cup her face so he could tilt her head to let her look at him. He gently brushed away the tears falling from her eyes with the pad of his thumb as he felt his heart sinking at seeing her shaking like a leaf.

Whilst Roger was on stage last night with the band (Y/n) had caught a glimpse of one of the people she had convicted for murder four years ago. She knew one of them had been released as he had a shorter sentence but she didn't think he would be here. He couldn't know she was here on tour with the boys but somehow he had gotten a job here. If he saw her even with her different hair colour and style, he would recognise her and he would get back at her. She was the one who saw the murder, she had picked all three men out of a crowd and each of them had seen her and knew what she looked like.

If he was here then she wasn't safe.

"Look at me, love. If he's here, that doesn't mean he knows you are too. You stay with the boys in here, I'm gonna go and talk to security. Tell me his name and we'll make sure he can't get to you, I won't let anything happen to you." If he was here he was clearly a worker on the tour and there were thousands of people here. There were crew to put up the stage, do the lights, electricians, stage production, camera crew, security, crew to set up and dismantle the stage. There were thousands of workers here and that meant the band and (Y/n) wouldn't even see half of them during the tour. She had a good chance of staying well hidden.

"Aiden Bell... I- I'm sure it was him."

"Right, you stay here with Brian, don't go anywhere without one of us or security. I'll go and have a word." Roger continued to brush his thumb over her cheekbone as he leaned down to kiss her, trying his best to keep both of them calm. He pressed a longing kiss to her forehead before he headed over to talk to Brian when (Y/n) sat down on the sofa.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying her best not to cry but it was useless when the tears continued to fall whether she wanted them to or not. Her eyes followed Roger as he moved over to where Brian was standing, needing to ask his friend a favour.

"I need to go have a word with security, there's someone here that's a threat and they might go after (Y/n). I can't explain but, please stay with her. Don't let her out of your sight until I get back, please?" Roger didn't have the time to go into detail about what was and had gone on but he needed Brian to trust him and wait with (Y/n) until he got back. Brian gave him a rather sceptical yet worried look but he nodded all the same, watching Roger pat his shoulder before heading out of the room, giving a lasting glance to (Y/n) before he went.

Walking over to where (Y/n) was sitting, Brian took a seat next to her, debating whether or not to try and hug her with the state she was in. She looked like she could use some form of comfort but he didn't know what to do. He felt that they were good friends even if he didn't know her all that well and he wanted to be there for her.

Saying nothing, Brian simply rested his hand over her own, forcing a smile when she locked her fingers with his own as if his hand was now her lifeline that she wasn't about to let go of.

"Why don't we go find a security guard to take you to one of the backstage rooms? Everyone comes in here, we can find somewhere out the way for you whilst Rog talks to someone." Brian suggested after a few makeup people walked into the room a few minutes later. This was the boys dressing room, makeup and costume crew walked in and out of here as well as production. They had many different rooms backstage that went unused for a few hours, they could sit (Y/n) in there and get someone to stay with her so she was safe and out of the way.

When (Y/n) silently nodded, Brian wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they both got to their feet and headed out of the room. Brian led them down the rather busy corridor, unsure whereabouts they would have a security member or some kind of bodyguard to who could watch over (Y/n) for a while.

"Excuse me." (Y/n) mumbled quietly when her shoulder bumped into a passerby. Her eyes glanced up but her gaze locked with the man she just collided shoulders with. Their eyes watched one another causing her head to turn as she carried on walking with Brian. Fear was written all over her features that she couldn't hide as she watched him take a moment before a sudden burst of recognition took over his face. His eyes seemed to light up with a growing fire of emotions before (Y/n) turned her head and pushed herself more into Brian. "T-that was him! Brian, he's there!" Her voice was no more than a hurried whisper as Brian quickly pulled her down a side corridor on his left at her words.

Brian let his arm drop from her shoulders so he could take her hand instead, his mind working out where they were and what the best option would be as he tried to speedwalk but not look suspicious or worried. They didn't need unwanted attention yet. (Y/n) dared to look over her shoulder for one split second but her body shuddered involuntarily when she noticed he was at the end of the corridor they were now jogging down. Brian didn't need to say anything to know that (Y/n) had just seen the stranger following them who she seemed to know.

"We need to get to the stage, the more people around the less chance he has of getting to us." Brian whispered firmly before pulling (Y/n) down a different leading walkway on her right. The more twists and turns they took the more they could speed up and get away. And if he got them to the stage or just the back of the stage where the steps were, it was a big open field. They would be around hundreds of crew working to set things up. Whoever was following them couldn't try and attack them if he was surrounded by many people.

By the time they were heading down yet another walkway past the toilets, they were running. This was the corridor that led out into the backfield area of the stage. They would be seen and heard.

Brian's eyes locked with the drummer just as he and (Y/n) ran past the last toilet and got to the field that was now sheltered in case of rain. He didn't know what happened, he had been holding her hand and was two strides in front but the next he was slipping as he turned to look behind him. His whole body tensed when he saw the look on (Y/n)'s face. The man who had been running after them was now standing by her side with his arm around her waist as if they were old friends.

"Start walking." Aiden hissed in (Y/n)'s ear, his left arm around her waist as his right hand pressed the tip of a knife into her back.

(Y/n) tried to control her breaths so she wouldn't scream as she barely managed to nod. Forcing her knees not to buckle beneath her as they walked side by side like they were friends just chatting to one another. Her head turned to the left as her gaze locked on Roger who was getting increasingly worried. He'd never seen the man standing beside her before and (Y/n) didn't know any of the crew working here.

Something wasn't right.

"(Y/n), are you okay?" Roger kept his tone light but his words firm as he scanned her features for any hesitation or signs that she wasn't okay. He took a few steps towards her and whoever she was with as the man beside her stopped walking at the sound of Roger's voice. Roger watched the man whisper something in her ear which made her shiver.

"Help me." It was so quiet that Roger almost missed the words but as soon as they were passed through her lips a broken sob followed.

Roger felt his muscles seizing up as he watched the utter fright take over his wife's features as an arm wrapped around her throat and another locked around her waist. Effectively stopping her in her movements and pulling her back into someone's chest.

A small murmur mixed with a cry left (Y/n)'s lips as she dug her nails into the arm that was pressing too tightly against her windpipe making it harder for her to breathe. Her eyes followed Roger as if she had tunnel vision and he was the only person she was able to see. He seemed to pale until it looked as if he had no blood left in his body which was now propelling over to try and get to her.

"Let her go!" Roger was visibly shaking with both fear and anger as he took a step closer to (Y/n) but the man holding her hostage pulled her back with him to keep distance between them. He started to walk (Y/n) away from Roger, his eyes darting between the drummer and Brian who was yelling for security.

By now people passing by or just hovering around like flies were now stopping with whatever they had previously been doing to watch the scene unfold with petrified eyes. (Y/n) winced as the arm around her throat pushed further against her causing her head to snap back against his shoulder so she could try and breathe. Tears distorted her vision but she could still make out Roger trying to get closer, desperate to take her back into his arms.

Lunging forward Brian grabbed hold of Roger by the shoulders, pulling his friend back so he didn't try and pounce like he had been about to do. Roger didn't have a moment to protest about Brian's actions before he noticed the glimmer of a blade shining in the luminescent lighting. He almost doubled over at the sound that left (Y/n)'s lips when the blade was moved so it was now visible and being pressed to her lower chest. The tip pressing through her shirt to try and touch her skin.

"Don't move." Aiden ordered, twisting his hand to curve the blade showing that if Roger took another step he would simply puncture the knife into (Y/n)'s skin.

There was nothing Roger could do but nod in response, watching him start to walk, roughly pulling (Y/n) along with him as people instantly moved out of the way. Not wanting to provoke Aiden or get in the line and be harmed themselves. Roger felt Brian's hands tighten on his shoulders as they both watched (Y/n)'s steps falter from being dragged so she had to walk sideways. Her knees caved in before Aiden was pulling her up by the arm around her neck causing her to gasp and sob at the same time with the little air she had.

"Where are you gonna go?" Roger suddenly shouted before he could stop himself. Pulling away from Brian to move and keep up with his wife but staying a fair distance away to be on the safe side. Aiden narrowed his eyes at Roger but didn't stop dragging (Y/n) further away through the backstage area. "There's security everywhere, you can't leave." Roger wasn't lying, they had security as a precaution anyway not for the specific reason of Aiden being here. He wouldn't be able to get in a car and drive away without them knowing what car he was in and blocking the exits.

"Doesn't matter, as long as she dies."

(Y/n) snapped her eyes closed as a sob bubbled up her throat and passed through her parted lips. She had spent four years with a new identity being free until being told three months ago that one of the men she had helped to put away was now free. She knew he would either come after her or find her somehow and he had. She had taken four years of his life away by sending him to prison, of course he wasn't going to let her go if he ever saw her again.

"Rog..." There was clear desperation in (Y/n)'s voice as she was suddenly dragged backwards causing her to stumble again. Her head started to shake as she couldn't see due to the tears. If someone didn't intervine she wasn't going to be let go until she was harmed or even dead.

(Y/n) didn't want to die.

She wanted to be in Roger's arms away from Aiden.

"P-please, let me go... Roger, please help." (Y/n) felt like wailing like a child who wasn't getting their own way. She'd never felt this scared in her life but then again no one had ever taken her hostage like this or threatened to hurt her. Her eyes locked with Roger's as his eyes seemed to enlarge but flood with pain as he was desperate to walk over and take her into his arms but he couldn't without potentially hurting her in the process.

"Just let her come to me and leave, you're hurting her. Look at her, she's frightened, isn't that enough?" Roger bargained, taking another step closer as Aiden continued to pull (Y/n) away who wasn't cooperating like he wanted her to. He was scaring her half to death and he was already hurting her, if he did try and kill her he would be sent to prison. But if he just let her go he could run and they would let him. They'd let him get away with this if he didn't hurt her. Roger would pay him to leave her alone right now if he could get his wife back into his arms where she would be safe and unharmed.

Scraping her nails down his arm, (Y/n) dug the heels of her shoes into the ground to try and slow them both down but he started to drag her rougher, his arm pressing tighter to her throat as he was becoming mad. Her body writhed in his hold as she tried to lean forward but he kept pulling her back. (Y/n) watched Roger and Brian hurrying after her, not wanting her out of their sights for one second in case something happened.

A choked scream tore against her throat when the knife was quickly dragged across her stomach. It was deep enough to bleed but it would be more superficial than damaging. All the same, it still let blood leak onto her top that was now also shredded at the bottom and it caused lightning bolts of pain to surface that made (Y/n)'s knees cave in. Mutters and cries left her lips that she couldn't even hear as Roger shouted something furious as he didn't know whether to lunge for her now or hang back in case she got hurt worse.

"Stop it- fuck, don't hurt her!"

Aiden switched his hold around so one arm was held around (Y/n)'s waist just above the wound and his other hand held the now bloodied knife to her neck.

"Get closer and it's her throat. Now start fucking moving." He shouted the first sentence at Roger before spitting the second one in (Y/n)'s ear. Her feet stumbled and scraped against the ground from having to walk backwards and keep moving despite wanting to collapse down. "Say goodbye."

Roger choked on air at the words as he suddenly ran for them both when Aiden backed into one of the rooms they used for respite. He couldn't lose sight of them, the moment he let (Y/n) out of his sight anything could happen to her and he made a promise that he would keep her safe. He had done everything he could up until now to make sure she was by his side and protected. He needed to keep her safe.

"N-no... Roger-"

"No!! Let her go!" Roger cried as he pounded his fist against the door that was slammed shut and locked in his face. He'd lost sight of her. She was locked on the other side of the door.

Turning sideways, Roger bashed his shoulder into the door that should be giving way. It wasn't heavy, it wasn't made of steel and it was practically a prop with a locking mechanism on it that should be breaking with little force. He rammed his shoulder into the door again but it didn't give way to him. Roger spied Brian running over with about three or four security men behind him who had been useless up until this point but he couldn't stand back and wait for them to open the door. Pulling back, Roger braced himself on one leg before smashing his foot next to the lock, watching the door give way as the lock broke from the wood.

"What have you done?!" The words tore from the back of Roger's throat as he glanced between Aiden and (Y/n).

Security bypassed Roger to get to Aiden who was stood with such a sinister, crippling smile on his face that it made Roger feel sick to his stomach. Snapping out of his momentary paralysis, Roger collapsed down to his knees in front of his wife who was laid on the floor, both hands pressing to her chest as each breath she took seemed to hitch higher than the last.

"Sshh, alright baby. I'm here, I've got you now. Let me see." Roger cooed, glancing his eyes from hers down to her chest that she was cradling.

Tears were streaming from her eyes as her body was shaking. She didn't protest when Roger gently enveloped his hands over her own before pulling them away. Moving to grasp her shirt and pull it up to her bra so he could see where she had been hurt and how badly.

His eyes set on the gash first that she had gotten earlier, it went from the right side of her stomach just above her belly button to just an inch or so on the left side. It was a superficial wound that was bleeding but hadn't gone nearly deep enough to hit any organs. Trailing his eyes up, Roger found the injury that was causing the most damage. There was a puncture wound only a few inches wide that had clearly hit an organ. Roger kept his touch light as he hovered his fingertips over the wound, breathing in relief when he worked out that it was lower than her heart.

"Small wound baby, missed your heart completely. This is gonna hurt." Roger spoke as he made quick but shakey work of unbuttoning his plain white shirt. Slipping it from his shoulders before scrunching it up, his eyes locking with (Y/n)'s as he pressed the shirt forcefully to her wound.

A shiver burst through his spine as he winced at the guttural scream that left her lips. He couldn't do anything but keep the pressure to her skin even as she writhed in clear pain beneath him. He had to stem the blood flow so pressure was needed.

"Rog... we called an ambulance, and an on-site medic won't be long." Brian spoke quietly but there was a certain edge to his voice that showed he was worried and close to crying. He bent down beside Roger who seemed to be either so panicked that he was calm or he had put himself into some kind of trance so he didn't break down just yet.

The drummer nodded mindlessly at the words as he motioned for Briain to shuffle to the left just a little. When Brian did so, Roger moved one hand from the bloodied shirt and lifted up (Y/n)'s lower legs so he could set them on Brian's legs for elevation. Brian began rubbing his hand soothingly up and down (Y/n)'s leg, unsure if she could even sense or feel his touch with how much pain she was clearly in but it was helping him to stay calm so he continued.

Turning his attention back to (Y/n), Roger took her hands and held them in his own that he was pressing to the shirt covering her wound.

"Don't move, baby, stay still for me. You'll be okay." Roger tightly locked his fingers between (Y/n)'s as he nodded at her to try and show her that she would be alright. He wouldn't accept anything else happening to her now except for a recovery.

(Y/n) managed to weakly nod back, concentrating on holding Roger's hand rather than how he was pressing both of their hands to his shirt that was now turning deep crimson rather than staying a crystal white. She tried to stay as still as possible, not wanting to move or rupture anything or make the bleeding worse as she looked up at Roger. Seeing that he didn't look extremely panicked or worried meaning she could be alright. Her heart wasn't hit, Roger was stemming the bleeding and they had medics on the way as well as an ambulance.

Roger brushed his thumb over the back of her hand as he leaned down to kiss her temple, his eyes burning into her own as he managed a smile to try and keep her calm.

"Here's the medic, you're gonna be just fine, sweetheart. I promise."

[trrriple-rrr]

Chris Marshall Advent (01.- 08.12.)

Martyn Fleming Advent (09. - 16.12.)

*

17.12. * 18.12. * 19.12. * 20.12. * 21.12.

***

22.12.

***

You don’t even have to open the envelope to know which photograph is being send to you the next day. You need some time before you can open it but no breathing exercise or mental preparation could have prepared you for the feelings that come rushing back to you as soon as you look at the picture.

It shows yourself. You are smiling brightly at the camera. Not only your mouth, but your whole face, your whole body seems to be smiling and radiating joy. You know you have never felt as happy as you did back then.

Back in the most beautiful summer of your life.

After your night together everything just seemed to fall into place. As if it had been meant to happen. As if you were meant to be together. Claude and you.

You spent even more time together then before. Talking every day, seeing each other as much as possible. Sneaking around your houses so your parents and siblings won’t find out. You remember nights under starlit skies. You remember rushed and heated kisses. And you remember his touch. His hands all over your body. And the times at the lake.

It was your spot. The hidden nook between the trees, where the water gently met the shore with a soothing sound. The stones always felt slippery underneath your bare feet before the water washed away the heat and sweat of the summer days.

The photograph was taken there. At the edge of the lake. He took it. He always claimed that photography “isn’t his medium” but that day he took your camera and shot this photograph of you. Lying on the blanket you brought and spread out underneath the trees. The leaves are painting shadows on your face and make the sunlit spots shine even brighter.

You are looking straight at the lens. No hesitation, no doubt. You are looking straight at him and you are smiling as if you have never seen a more beautiful sight. Your shoulders are bare and the sunlight is glinting in the small water drops still lingering on your skin.

This had been your secret too. Skinny dipping in the lake. Usually in the evening and only sometimes during the day. It felt forbidden and exciting. And he laughed when you hesitated and threw his clothes left and right and just ran into the water, calling your name.

You smile at the memories but you don’t dare to get up to look into the mirror to see if your smile matches the one in the photo. You put the photo next to the others. There are six of them now. You wonder how many more will come your way and who is sending them. You still haven’t caught anyone who could do this…

*

The next day is one that starts early for you. A call and you have to be at work as soon as possible. Too many newsworthy stories were happening in this city sometimes but you also loved the thrill of getting the call and hurrying to wherever you are wanted and needed. It made for an exciting change to the scheduled appointments and portrait photographs. As not all of them were as moving as the one you had last week with the senator.

You smile to yourself at the memory and think about the photograph of him and your colleague that’s currently drying on your dark room. Some photographs just deserve the old fashioned treatment.

The job takes a while and you are exhausted when you finally return to your desk. It’s only when you have sat down, cradling a cup of coffee in your cold hands, that you notice the white envelope on your table.

You frown and nearly spill coffee all over it in your haste to open it. This one seems to have gone through the office mail at least as your name and a stamp are at the other side. Sadly your name had been typed rather than hand written but whoever sends you these photos knows where you are working too.

You swallow hard and open the envelope.

“No.” You murmur and look at the picture. Again you had the feeling you knew it was coming but you weren’t ready for it.

After the reminder of your incredible happiness with Claude you are now reminded of the worst times together. Because you weren’t together at all. Going away to college took you apart and things only got worse from there. You seemed to lose each other and yourself.

The photograph shows the empty street of your childhood neighbourhood. At least it seems empty. Back in the distance you can just make out the backlights of a car. Claude’s car. The place that used to host a lot of make-out sessions, now took him away from you.

At the bottom edge of the photograph there is a suitcase visible. Your suitcase. You took the photograph as you wanted to remember this moment. The moment that changed everything.

But now, looking at it, it just hurt you all over again. Because with the photograph come the memories of calling him and getting no reply. Of having to cancel when he wanted to see you. Of fights about your different life plans. You look around the office, see journalists busy at work. He always said that this wouldn’t be for you. That he saw you as an artist. But you wanted your work to be seen and you had bills to pay. And you do love your job. So he was wrong about this not being the right place for you.

You push the photograph back into the envelope and grab your coat and red woollen scarf. You needed some fresh air and something to eat.

So instead of calling for takeout you decide to get something from the little Italian restaurant in your street on your way home.

The December air is crisp and cold. You breathe it in deeply and enjoy the sting it leaves in your nose and lungs. It makes you feel something else besides sadness.

You take the long walk home through the park. You are completely lost in thoughts of Claude’s angry voice the last time you spoke together back then, before you decided you both needed a clean break, time apart, that it was over.

You remember your tears but also knowing that you were too different right now to work. You weren’t children or teenagers anymore.

You are thinking about him so much that you are actually hearing his voice suddenly.

“Diana! Prince!” Someone who is calling his dogs. That voice! Deep, but oh so smooth…it does sound like him. You can see the back of the person. It’s a man. Tall, slender, wearing a long grey coat, a woollen hat. You narrow your eyes. It can’t be him. He’s not here. In the city…. You resist the urge to call out his name and watch the man and his two beautiful Afghan hounds disappear around the next corner.

“I’m going crazy!” You say to yourself and get some looks from passers-by that seem to agree with the weird woman talking to herself in the middle of the park. “Argh!” You rub your face angrily. It is the fault of these photographs! They make all these memories come back and they play with your mind!

You would probably embarrass yourself further but just then you notice a couple dancing in the middle of the path.

And one of them looks like your editor!

You laugh out loud and quickly cover your mouth. He looks happy.

“Good for him!” You think and quickly walk past them before he can notice you. You just hope that something good will happen to yourself soon too!

*

The cute banner has been made by the great @once-upon-a-mystrade

[ardastars]

Could I please have a ship for The Hobbit please ? I’m a simple girl who adores nature. Countrylands and forests are my favorite places to be. I love animals and share most of my time with my beloved dog. I’m fond of photography. I spend most of my free time walking in the forests, observing wildlife there. Particularly wolves and deers. I’m sweet and understanding.

@anilynsworld: I ship you with Thranduil Oropherion!

Okay, let’s be honest here, you and Thranduil probably met in the Woodland forest and you stopped him from hunting a rabbit that you were taking care of. 

This would’ve annoyed him since he planned this WHOLE day to go hunting - however - you would’ve intrigued him because *clears throat* number one, no one has EVER stopped Thranduil from doing the things he was doing. AND number two, no one as fair as you would’ve caught Thranduil’s attention - but somehow you did. 

After your last encounter with him, he couldn’t stop thinking of you. 

Like he would make small comments about you for a week and this would probably annoy the whole court.

*Galion in the distance* OMG JUST COURT HER ALREADY!

Anyways, you both would meet again in the same place you first met and things got “Thingol and Melian” (if you know what I mean).

Like you, both couldn’t speak to each other but only stare into each other's eyes and that moment felt like a thousand years had gone by. 

If “love at first sight” wasn’t real, the second time was DEFINITELY real.

Thranduil invited you into his court and made gave you the title “The Lady of the Elvenking’s Halls”

Even though you both weren’t officially courting or even gotten married to each other yet, EVERYONE bowed and treated you as if you were the queen. 

Thranduil would’ve also gifted you a great hound named “Tirhû” and a private garden for you to relax in. 

Over the next couple of years, the bond between you and Thranduil grew and he proposed to you and asked you to be his queen. 

You would become the Queen of the Woodland Realm and in the future, a mother to a certain elf-prince who you would love with all your heart and soul. 

[sohannabarberaesque]

Random Hanna-Barbera headcannons

Can you just imagine what Trollkindom (as per Trollkins) would look like diving around in wetsuits bound to clash with their multi-coloured bodies and hair?

I just hope those Skatebirds (Knock-Knock, Satchel and Scooter) aren’t the sort as could cause problems with their shoe skates while getting the groceries. And hopefully at a modest little neighbourhood supermarket.

We all know Squiddly Diddly is rather fond of underwater photography--even if it’s starting to be difficult all the more to find photographic film for his legendary Nikonos underwater camera.

Shucks, Huckleberry Hound must like his iced tea. Even if he’s starting to add some “Constant Comment” to the brew for flavour--which is bound to run out rather quickly.

Can you imagine Augie Doggie collecting United Nations postage stamps as a hobby, if but to win the envy of schoolmates?

I understand Muttley is probably the only canine in the world whose Saturday-night bath is more than likely one of the flea and tick sort.

I understand policemen have reputedly fainted at the sight of the Hair Bear Bunch on that Invisible Motorcycle of theirs in defiance of physics as much as logic. But to the moment, no Fatal Heart Attacks.

Imagine what sort of scented bath bomb Penelope Pitstop enjoys especially.

Peter Potamus--and a few close diving buddies of his--can’t resist the feeling of meditating underwater while holding breath and simply wearing but themselves.

Seems Magilla Gorilla went to the store to buy a frozen banana creme pie, but for some reason got coconut creme instead. Which didn’t stop him from eating same in its entirety the other night while listening to what remains of shortwave radio.

Some “tourist-type goodies” Yogi Bear just cannot resist for the life of him: Skin-on, natural casing weiners ... any brand of potato chip other than Pringles, especially the kettle-cooked such ... grilled kielbasa ... potato salad without too much mustard in it ... Entemann’s cupcakes and crumb cakes ... I assume you get the idea.

Imagine Ben & Jerry’s approaching Snagglepuss with the idea of an ice cream inspired by him in the vein of Steven Colbert’s Americone Dream and The Tonight Dough Starring Jimmy Fallon.

If ever some donut shop were to offer malted donuts, I can just picture Top Cat and crew being the first to try same, if only for the sheer novelty.

Meanwhile, reader, can you think of a few others in this vein?

@warnerbrosentertainment @warnerarchive

[libidomechanica]

“Degré grayn al home”

Mony leude, þis tyme twenty- five? Degré grayn al home.  With returns  the heart and  the spuryed to  church do when 

there golde on bent, than all  likes of her sun  and how Art carolez. For  I must hair, then  you, fire, and crede. But  when majesty, 

when gross the  sky blood that my  last shall not more by Ensham,  down from Heavnly  frowns the pleas are three  yard, forty feast heart; formd 

to his hor hounde, that  by her utteries  whateer form and drank on  þe green. Ive los  well; while the would my  hair of hym þonk yow 

nocht but only progress  are no hard,  the photography, the  hatz seruaunt of  Age, but glowing into  a schal 

se him keep  in þis metaphysical  chronicle it illusion  will blande adoun  þat commes on that  compelld Thomson scho countered 

it out, aboute  auter. We wove our  bodyes would I never  sages he dressed by the  gorge to quelle.  What soȝt hit no mountaining 

dateless would ran on  þat once so dare? His  mounting waves combing railing  knife, ne  for hit nedez paynted,  whereon taste the 

body strain, the world  was politic,  more awakend tost imperious  natural  numbered back a living  Death its rosy in 

hill brake our mouth  Sone who sleeps That Sheba  yet. had contain, as I  am þe could kiss  on his broken and  with helpless 

lover this ungovernment  on þat I see horse  them his lymmez vpon þat  þe þen Wenore, to  peinct the sad retossed  visions of yore. 

alone, and bind, the  assault; I view? But has  not he hand of government  destrode  has wretched and tyruen  ouer hit couþe quen yow lause, 

I began height his  well in a buzzing  hall not he length or  her veil, there, and  gef hems. Apollonius—from  a stark and found 

his braunche. Her sex and  great berries by what  its lamps expired: inspire, discussed  above, I brings, a  hole, who sight, or lips the  ever sad religious 

passion taughter  leue laȝed his lipless  to sharp, to  tall me men sneer, as  with other next,  the unimpeded 

himself, quoþ þe good does  not die againe, but  intent. Stood buyers the  rise! As ȝe haf seten,  who wolde both way to  the caught be 

wood, he seruyse of God  and dream! And flog  thee dearer wanton; hes  lecture one the  cleft and alle; he dressez  þe dusty playne, amid 

the hit is no  rescued forward to  be it is circle  round these, ever stand?  The kindle home herknez  knaged by light quiet 

first open gratis. Nor is  source in Western  religion questionate  is a  dog wont do the immortalitys  prayr. Ah me!

[ronnairlephotoblog]

“What Lies Beneath,” by Ronalyn Irle, February 2022.  1/250 @ f4, ISO 400.

This photograph was taken for Introduction to Digital Photography as part of a an assignment to photograph a sewer in creative and different ways.  I decided to bring our family dog to this shoot, who is part hound, and was able to capture him tracking something (probably mice) below the snow.  I thought it was an interesting photo because his face is below the snow, as is the sewer.  It appears that he could be investigating what is inside the sewer out of sight, that there is much going on underground that we cannot see, which creates all kinds of interesting imaginings.